


Hearts On Fire

by AugustApollo



Category: Handsome Devil (2016)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-13 08:07:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14745086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AugustApollo/pseuds/AugustApollo
Summary: "I forgot I had a roommate, so kinda just assumed everything in the room was mine."Things didn't change. And then they did. Conor was suddenly never there, and Ned doesn't understand why.What if instead of bringing them closer, they are just torn further apart? After all, real life happens after the credits roll.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Since watching the movie on Netflix, I've been obsessed with the thought of what happens next. There was still so much to explore with Conor and Ned; the movie just barely scratched the surface!
> 
> The title comes from the song "Hearts on Fire" by Gavin James. Give it a listen, if you want. It's a good song, and says a lot about the overarching theme of this story.
> 
> Please leave a comment! I know how i want this story to go, but would love to hear your thoughts.

Sometimes, people can tell when their lives are about to change. There's a zing in air, the impact of an embrace, the slow motion feeling as if everything was heightened and emphasized for the sole purpose of being etched in the memory.

But sometimes, people can be wrong about that too. 

Ned had been so sure that things would be different after the semi finals. He could just feel it. Being in Conor's tight embrace. Hearing the crowd chant around them. Even being enveloped by Conor's team mates, some of whom were the bullies that made his daily life torture. 

But things didn't change. Just 10 minutes after Conor left his side ("Be right back" he whispered, as the team made their way back into the locker room to change; there was talk of some victory party), the static in the air died down, and Ned was left wondering about what happens next.

He wasn't invited to the after party, although he was a tad bit bitter that. He wasn't sure why, but part of him thought that Conor would drag him along. Ned loitered outside the school shuttle, waiting for Conor and his team mates to come back out. But as the last of his school mates piled back into the shuttles, the rugby team stomped right past him. One of the boys had an arm around Conor's shoulders, jostling him about, obviously still raving about the game. Conor didn't see him. They just kept going, and rode away in a car waiting at the end of the stadium.

"BEEEEEEPPPPP!" Ned leaped away from the shuttle, and looked up. The driver made some agitated hand gestures, as he found himself coming aboard and shuffling irritably into the a seat.

Things didn't change the following morning either. It was a weekend, and Ned woke up to the sight of a massively hungover Conor, his wide frame sprawled over his bed. He left a trail of clothing around the room - his shoes and socks thrown around near the door, his belt in the center of the room, his pants by the window. But interestingly, Conor's shirt was discarded on Ned's bed, hanging over the frame. The sleeping giant was snoring face down, wearing only his boxers and a heavy scent of alcohol.

Things started to change the following weeks, but not in the way Ned thought they would. The first noticeable was the absence of Conor. No, he wasn't avoiding Ned. At least it didn't feel that way. 

At first, Ned easily dismissed the lack of Conor because of his sport. Up at the crack of dawn, permitted to miss classes, out all afternoon training, and evenings with the team. Sure, it was a bit more intense than usual, but Ned simply assumed that the rugby team was kicking things up a notch before the big game.

Then, the finals came. Conor, that bastard, was aggressive and incredibly magical on the field. Unsurprisingly, they won. Ned was in the stands the whole game this time around. After the final seconds, Conor found Ned's gaze through the crowd, pointed right at him, and threw a megawatt smile. It was breathtaking, but all too brief. There was no hug this time.

The finals came and went. Trainings were less rigid, or so Ned heard through the grapevine. But Conor was still too often gone. 

He was long gone when Ned woke up. He'd be back when Ned was asleep. But sometimes, in the short and rare moments they would see each other, Conor would throw Ned a smile or give him a gentle nudge that buoyed his heart into thinking that the growing distance was just in his head. But just before he could dream to hope, the moment would be over, and Conor would be far off again. Without a talent show to prepare for, they had little reason to come together during the break times.

How could Conor be so at ease? How could he walk around with his dumb friends and dumb smirk?

The weeks turned to a month. And then two. Slowly, it started to feel like their friendship was just a messed up daydream. Ned's confusion became anger - anger for making him hope, anger for making him believe he wasn't the only one, anger for leaving him alone. 

Eventually, he figured thatif Conor wasn't gonna be around, then was this really his room still? He was going to find out. Ned started moving his posters back to the other side of the room. No response. He started leaving stuff around and moving Conor's from their place. No response.

Ned started wearing Conor's clothes. Just one or two shirts every few days. In hopes Conor would see and wonder. In hopes he could get him to stop in his tracks and actually look at him. In hopes that he would remember what they could have, should have by now.

But of course, fate doesn't work like that. Conor didn't see anything. Not even when Ned leaves the shirts right in plain sight. Eventually, Ned just gets used to reaching into Conor's closet whenever he felt like it. 

One day, Ned put on Conor's gray sweatshirt. It practically drowned him in fabric, but smelled so much like his MIA roommate. It was a weekend, so he didn't bother getting up until noon, only roused from sleep by the sound of heavy footfalls heading to the dining hall. 

Without a second thought, Ned hastily changed into a pair of jeans, and sleepily followed everyone in for lunch. He was too preoccupied with scratching his eye open, when someone grabbed the hood of the sweater, and stumble backwards.

"This is mine." A voice so familiar, yet now very foreign, whispered low and deep into his ear. Ned looked up. Conor's face was all charm and mischief, but his eyes were inquisitive and his voice was a serious.

"Oh, really? I didn't know that." Ned couldn't help the acid that slipped into his tone. He dropped his voice into a whisper. "I forgot I had a roommate, so kinda just assumed everything in the room was mine."

Conor let go of the hood, all humor replaced confusion. He opened his mouth to say something, but -

"C'mon, Masters. Don't waste our time flirting with that fag." Weasel drawled lazily, earning zero laughs and a million uncomfortable stares. Conor's eyes snapped onto his team mate. "I'm sure even you could do better."

The world seemed to stand still, as if everyone paused to see what Conor would do. Afraid to even breathe, Ned half hoped that Conor would tackle him. Whether it was for his sake or Ned's, he didn't know, but he hoped. But Conor just stormed off, hitting Weasel's shoulder so hard that he stumbled back into the doorframe. 

That fucking bastard. 

That afternoon, Ned tore down the posters, threw the hoodie back in the closet, and re-organized the room. Then, he rebuilt the Berlin Wall.

On Monday, Ned saw Conor in the dining hall, sitting at the head of a table with the rugby team. He deliberately chose a seat so his back would be towards them. What he didn't see were Conor's eyes trained on him since he entered the hall. Ned didn't see the scarlet gash along Weasel's cheek, and bruised jaw about the size of Conor's fist.


	2. Rebuild These Bridges

Connor came around that evening.

Ned had his earphones on, with his back to the door, so he couldn't hear his roommate come in. 

"Ned." Connor said, examining the Berlin Wall with pained eyes. His grip on the doorknob tightened, turning his knuckles white. No response.

"Ned." He tried again. A little louder this time, voice strained in an effort to sound patient. Still no response.

Connor huffed, and slammed the door shut, sending a harsh vibration through the walls. For a split second, he worried he crack something. Someone down the hall yelled for him to keep it down. 

Ned jolted, ripped his earphones off and spun fast around. He looked deranged, like he expected there to be a thief or someone ready to beat him senseless.

The rugby player was standing in front of the door with his arms crossed over his chest, the thick ropes of his biceps menacingly straining against his sleeves. He looked like he was ready to kill.

"Ned." 

"Ah, so I do have a roommate after all. Nice of you to return. Needed something?" Ned had his passive-aggressive sarcasm down to a pat.

"Ned, what is this?" Connor said, his voice strained and measured. He flexed his fist under his biceps.

"What does it look like?"

"I know what it looks like. Why is it up?"

"Why do you think?"

"Dammit, Ned." Connor exhales sharply and strides to his side of the room. Ned hears his bed creak, and a dull thud on the wall. He shifts a bit, and manages to see Connor through the crack in the boxes. He had his head tilted up on the wall, staring into nothingness. "Why the hell do you always pick a fight, eh?"

"Well, why are you always the one pulling away? I'm done chasing after you and bringing you back."

"I wasn't the one who built this stupid wall again."

"I wouldn't have had to if you didn't leave me alone again!" Ned yells. Connor marches up to the wall, and peers at him over the boxes. His fringe is half in his eyes, and he's got his jaw clenched. Ned looks up at him bitterly. "I thought we'd be friends this time, you know? Thought things would go back to being okay. But we've just rewinded to being strangers. So, is this better? Going back to how things were when you first got here? You're all about rugby, and I'm just the weird kid who happens to be your roommate."

Connor opens his mouth to respond. And shuts it again. Open. Close. Words were racing through his brain, trying to form the right sentences that would make Ned understand. But none of them manage to push through his lips. Except for another sharp sigh. Connor slumps back to his bed, running a hand through his too-long hair.

"The team doesn't talk about it." He starts to say. Slowly, as if each word was a stab in the shoulders. "It's like some unspoken truth that everyone knows and nobody acknowledges…"

He pauses, and Ned is too scared to even breathe.

"…not because they're homophobic. At least, I don't think most of them are. I think they just don't know how to take it, to do about it. On the surface, it feels like they aren't treating me any differently. But they turn away from me in the locker room now. I try not to take it personally."

Connor suddenly walks up to the wall again, leveraging a hand on top to pull his head higher above the boxes. 

"But there's a sense of peace now, you know? Like a stillness that I've never had before. No waiting for the other shoe to drop. No holding my breath, preparing for a fight everyday. I just want things to stay this way for a while."

"And I would just be unnecessary risk." Ned supplies.

"What? No." Conor walks over to Ned's side of the room and stands by the foot of his bed. "You might be collateral damage. Look, you aren't confirmed gay. I'm the only one. Those arseholes, they're still getting used to me. They can't touch me because they need me to be on the team. But if we keep hanging out together, there's no guarantee what they'll do to you. If they have it out for you, I can't always keep you safe. They might even split us apart."

Conor runs his hands through his hair. "I really messed this up, eh? I'm sorry, Ned. I didn't know what else to do."

"Maybe you could have talked to me about it? You fucking disappeared. You think I don't get verbal abuse when you're not around? Because I do. Always have, even before you arrived here." Ned shakes his head, and stands up. He stands to his full height, which is still just below Conor's eye level. 

"I really appreciate what you're trying to do, Conor. But you don't have to. I'd really rather have my friend back."

For a long moment, Ned thinks that he might reject him. His eyes are dark and unreadable, as he looks at his feet, shuffling them uncomfortably. Then Conor looks up, and his wide eyes are a tad but kinder. There are no words, but the smallest nod.

The next day, they walk into breakfast together. Conor sees the expectant look on his teammates' faces, but instead, he and Ned find an empty table at the far end of the dining hall. 

Conor starts talking about some old vinyl he found in the storage room that he wants him to hear later. Ned only partly hears him, distracted by the rising warm feeling in his chest and his surprisingly racing heartbeat. His head is spiraling with a rush at having Conor by his side again.

"Ned?" Conor waves a large hand in front of his face. It almost hits his nose, and wakes him from his reverie.

"Ned-"

"Yeah, yeah. Otis Redding and all that. Gotcha man."

"You're weird, man." He rolls his eyes, and devours another pancake.

//

Things went back to normal after that. Well, normal meant at least half a dozen insults hurled in the hallways everyday. The occasional shove on the shoulders. But nothing Ned couldn't take. As far as he knew, Conor didn't get any sort of abuse, which was honestly fantastic for them. Between the two of them, the rugby player was more likely to snap if anyone gave him shit for it. Everyone knew about Weasel's broken nose. Only someone with a death wish would even think about poking that beast.

The school year ended, and summer came. While Ned loved being away from school, he did miss Conor. Sure, the two of them talked often and met up a few times to see shows are even just hang out. But it's different when you actually live with someone. Losing that consistency is like walking on one leg all of a sudden.

Soon enough, school came back around, and this time, they were seniors. Unsurprisingly, Conor was unanimously named the team captain. He needed to start hanging out more with the rugby team, to be a proper leader - inspire camaraderie and all that shit. Ned understood. In fact, he was loads grateful for the heads up this time. They still saw each other in the evenings and in classes, but their daytime jam sessions were pretty limited these days.

Conor was essentially living two lives - his school life as a student athlete, and his real life. It was an unspoken agreement that Ned was part of his real life, so that's a consolation for having to share his best friend. They had a pretty flawless system in place, one that didn't see any overlap between rugby and Ned. Sure, it was common knowledge (or so they assumed) that they're friends. Ned is now also less allergic to sports talk. But for the most part, Conor lived two realities, and everyone got with the program.

Until someone didn't.

Ned was walking to his next class, absorbed in a book they were currently reading for Mr. Sherry's class. Absorbed, not because it was so great. But because he and Conor wasted the weekend jamming in the storage room that he totally forgot to catch up on his reading. By some miracle, Conor, that arseholes, forgot to mention that he was completely caught up already. So if Ned failed, he was gonna fail alone.

With the book held up to his face, he didn't have full visibility on where he was headed. But people seemed to be parting for him anyway, so he didn't bother changing his position. Then, he walked smack into a wall.

Correction - Wall-like person.

He lowers his book, and comes face to face with a large boy, a rugby player. Not a player he knows and still looking a bit fresh faced, so he must be new. Possibly a freshman. But he was wearing a training uniform similar to Conor's (one he had borrowed several times, while the other feigns ignorance).

He opens his mouth to apologize but -

"Oi, you must be the faggot I've heard about. Watch where you're going, or I might think you're trying to rub up against people on purpose." Newbie growls in his face, and shoves him in the shoulder. He turns to his teammates with a victorious grin, but Ned notes most of them just look like they've seen a ghost. 

Ned was about to pull the guy's shoulder back and demand an apology, when suddenly, Newbie flew to the wall behind them with a deafening crack. The hallways stilled. Newbie must have pummeled into it face first, because came away from it, there was red smudged on the wall and blood running threads down from his nose. He looked downright murderous, ready to pounce on his opponent, only to be immediately dwarfed by his team captain.

Facing a very livid Conor, Newbie became very confused. 

"What the fuck man?" 

"What did you say?" Conor had that psychotic happy voice he uses when he's angry and arrogant and ready to beat anyone up. That unwavering confidence that he will win at all cost, so back the fuck up. 

"Why did you do that? Fuck, I think my nose is broken." Newbie tries to stop the bleeding.

"It's not broken, don't be an idiot. Now, what did you say to him?" Conor doesn't even spare a glance at Ned, but everyone knew who he was talking about.

"What...?" Newbie's mouth hangs agape.

"I said, what did you say to him? I must have misheard, but I'm pretty sure it should have been an apology, and not some stupid slur word."

"What the hell do you care? You just assaulted your own team mate!" 

"And I'd do it again, if it means teaching you a few lessons in not being an arsehole." Conor charges at the boy, pulling him up by the collar and slamming him against the wall, right next to where his bloody nose left a mark. He whispered something harshly, in a voice low enough to be kept secret to both of them. But it was enough for Newbie to keep his mouth shut and simply nod.

With that, Conor releases him from his death grip. The boy runs down the hall, probably to the infirmary to get his nose checked. The hallways comes alive with activity again. The rest of the rugby team nod at Ned, and go on their way. For a second, Ned thought Conor was gonna follow them without so much as glance in his direction. 

But just as Conor was walking past him, the taller boy ruffles his hair and gives him a playful shove on arm. They never talk about that instance, but word gets to Ned that Conor threatened Newbie to never even look at Ned ever again. 

Coincidentally, much of the abuse ended after that. Not even a playful jest from anyone. For they all knew that if they were to mess with the scrawny red head, they'd have to answer to the burly rugby captain who has much experience in breaking bones.


End file.
